"Five more minutes," Sian said quietly, her hand still on Halian's shoulder.
"We don't have five minutes." Karse's golden eyes reflected the dying firelight as he turned to face them fully. "Can't you feel it? The corruption is moving. Spreading. Something's stirring it up, making it aggressive."
Briar pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the warmth pulse in response to his words. It had been agitated since she'd used it to kill Ferria, alternating between satisfaction and what felt like hunger. The sensation made her stomach turn, made her wonder what she was becoming, what price she'd pay for consciously wielding power that had always moved through her without her direction.
Eliam's hand found her lower back, steadying her. He'd been hovering since they'd left the safe haven, never more than arm's reach away, his shadows coiling restlessly around his feet. The protective gesture should have been comforting, but all she could think about was Ferria's revelation. Arion wasn't a separate person. He was part of Eliam, torn away and given form.
She looked across the clearing to where Arion stood talking quietly with Thaine, his light flickering in patterns that seemed to mirror Eliam's shadows. How had she not seen it before? The way they moved with the same predatory grace, the way their magic resonated on the same frequency, the way the warmth in her chest reached for them both with equal desperation.
"Briar." Eliam's voice was quiet, meant only for her. "What did she tell you? In the safe haven, before..."
Before she killed her. The words hung unspoken between them.
"Later," she said, not trusting herself to lie convincingly, not trusting herself to tell the truth either. How could she explain that he was incomplete? That the cousin he'd been circling warily was actually the piece of himself he'd lost? That Malus needed all three of them together to break the seal?
His jaw tightened, but he didn't push. They'd been together long enough now that he recognized when she was deflecting, but also when pushing would only make her retreat further.
A branch cracked in the forest, too loud, too deliberate. Everyone went still, hands moving to weapons, magic gathering in the air like static before a storm. The horses shifted nervously, ears flat against their heads, nostrils flaring at some scent humans couldn't detect.
"How many?" Thaine asked quietly, his blade already free of its sheath.
Karse had gone perfectly still, that unnatural Drak stillness that meant he was tracking something. "Twelve. Maybe more. They're good at masking their numbers."
"Corrupted?" Sian's water was already condensing from the humid air, forming protective barriers.
"No." Karse's expression had gone strange, a mixture of recognition and dread. "Drak."
Chapter thirty-one
The word had barely left his mouth when they emerged from the trees. Drak warriors in traditional battle garb—leather and bone armor, weapons that looked primitive but hummed with old magic, their scales painted with symbols that seemed to shift and writhe in the firelight. They moved with coordinated precision, surrounding the group before anyone could properly react.
"Nobody move," Karse said sharply, his hands carefully visible and away from his weapons. "These are Ka'tar Drak. Elite warriors. If they wanted us dead, we'd already be bleeding out."
One of the warriors stepped forward, and Briar's breath caught. This Drak was massive, scales so dark they seemed to absorb light, eyes that burning gold of molten metal. Scars crossed his chest in deliberate patterns, ritual markings that spoke of battles won and blood spilled. When he spoke, his voice carried the rumble of distant thunder.
"Karse Isragan," the warrior said, and the name sounded like both greeting and condemnation. "The Exile returns."
"Veroc," Karse replied, inclining his head slightly. Not quite a bow, but acknowledgment. "It's been a long time."
"One hundred and eighty two years." Veroc's gaze swept over the group, lingering on each face with calculating intensity. "You return now, at the corruption's peak, bringing fae to our sacred lands." He bared teeth that were too sharp, too many. "The Council will want to know why."
"I come to fulfill my purpose," Karse said carefully. "To see the seal reinforced, the corruption contained."
Veroc laughed, the sound like grinding stone. "Your purpose? You abandoned your purpose when you chose comfort over duty. When you left us to rot while you played pet to fae lords."
The temperature dropped as Eliam's temper flared, shadows spreading across the ground like spilled ink. "Watch your tongue, lizard."
Three spears were immediately pointed at his throat, the warriors moving so fast Briar barely saw them. The metal points glowed with heat that made the air shimmer.
"No!" Karse stepped between them, hands raised. "Nobody fight. Please." He turned to Veroc. "They're with me. They're necessary. The seal can't be reinforced without them."
"That remains to be seen." Veroc made a gesture, and more warriors emerged from the trees. Twenty. Thirty. Too many to fight even if they weren't exhausted and grief-worn. "You'll come with us. The Council will determine your fate."
"We don't have time for politics," Arion said, his light brightening in warning. "The corruption is spreading. Every hour we waste—"
"Is another hour you're alive at our sufferance," Veroc cut him off. "You entered Drak lands without permission, without tribute, without respect. The fact that you're breathing is already more mercy than you deserve."
Briar felt the warmth in her chest pulse, responding to the threat, wanting to manifest. She pressed her hand against it, trying to keep it contained. The last thing they needed was her accidentally revealing what she could do, accidentally starting a fight they couldn't win.
